Equivocal Shroud
by Saerzion
Summary: An androgynous and enigmatic Dragonborn endures unrelenting distrust from the general populace, yet engages in secret affairs with the Jarls of both Solitude and Windhelm. Only the observant follower Erandur begins to see the motives that drive this perplexing individual, for there is far more to that shrouded exterior than meets the eye.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning(s):** _Sexual content. Relationships are het, slash, or femslash (up to the reader to decide)._

**A/N:** This was originally written for the kink meme, but due to the lack of response, I reworked most of it and turned it into a proper fic. Many aspects of this short story are left vague on purpose, but if you're looking for some ambiguous smutty action, romance on the side, and a mysterious protagonist with a hidden agenda, you'll find it all here.

x-x-x-x-x

**- I -**

Even through the limited visual capabilities of my helmet, I detected the draw of eyes around me as I walked along the cobblestone road leading to the Blue Palace. I doubted the full Daedric set I wore served as the primary target of the squints and leers, the indiscreet whispers that drifted to my ears. Despite my status as a Thane of Solitude, most citizens continued to give me a wide berth. The blame fell partly on me, for I admit I never made the effort to reach out. I kept my business in each city quick, such as this instance where I hoped to answer Jarl Elisif's summons and then depart within the hour.

Of course, such brusque dealings never won the people's hearts. They conveyed their opinion of me through their distance and skeptical remarks. For the most part, their words no longer fazed me, but the weight of their distrust never lifted from my chest.

_Is it truly the Dragonborn?_

_Why doesn't it ever show its face?_

_Exactly what IS it?_

The term "it" was all they could use to describe me. I understood. Choosing to conceal everything of myself also meant choosing to forfeit some semblance of my humanity, the very aspect that fit me into their definition of a person. For all they knew, I could be a thrall or a dremora. After all, I traversed the regions of Skyrim like this, garbed in Daedric armor and rarely speaking. Still, I would have liked a little more faith in my intentions. I sought to liberate these people from Alduin's fury.

But until I succeeded or died in this endeavor, they'd never believe it.

My Dunmer companion kept in step at my side as he, too, brushed off the relentless gawking. I suppose we did make an odd pair: a shrouded individual of indeterminate identity traveling with a priest of Mara. Not only that, said priest wore the robes that once belonged to the previous Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. Were it not for the Amulet of Mara swinging permanently from his neck, Erandur may have been mistaken for the late Savos Aren himself.

I still thought bestowing him with the robes had been a good move since I possessed little magical aptitude, even when the rank of Arch-Mage had passed to me. I studied Erandur now as we approached the palace doors, noting the fitting bearing with which he carried himself. A connection of solidarity had forged between us the instant we'd met, one that carried us both through times too dark for the comfort of words. He noticed my attention and faced me fully, crimson eyes supportive and kind. My mouth quirked into an unseen smile, and I lifted a hand to clap him on the shoulder as we entered the abode of Jarl Elisif the Fair.

As soon as I strode two steps inside the elaborate palace, the steward, Falk Firebeard, called to me from the balcony of the court.

"Kressun. There you are. Elisif has been waiting," he declared. "She has a matter to discuss with you and requests your presence in her quarters."

I nodded, gesturing to Erandur to wait for me near the entrance. He did so as I ascended the winding staircase on the left and moved past the watchful court members in silence. They, at least, trusted me enough to let me meet with the Jarl alone, even with a Daedric warhammer strapped to my back. Then again, I'd had to bend over backwards to prove myself, an effort I wasn't keen on repeating for seven other Holds offering me the title of Thane.

The guards allowed my entry into the rear wing of the palace, where the High King's widow resided by herself. Her crystal-pitched voice answered when I knocked on her door, and I let myself in, shutting it behind me as she turned from the sunlit window by the canopy bed. Once again, I found myself struck by her beauty. Blonde hair falling in waves over her shoulders, she represented the standard of elegance throughout the province, unmatched in the perfect combination of her grace and allure. I bowed my head in the slightest, never missing a chance to show my respect.

"I'm glad you showed up after all," she began cuttingly. "I've received disturbing news about your recent associations, Kressun."

I read the look on her face and realized at once where this conversation was headed.

"Thane of Windhelm? Are you testing me?" Elisif demanded in a hard tone she never revealed to anyone else.

I accepted her displeasure, but explained, "I told you from the start I wouldn't choose sides in this civil war, my Jarl. I do what I must to gain resources in my fight against the dragons." My voice rang from behind my helm, naturally husky in its quality, and I saw how it incited a peculiar glint in her eye.

Regardless, a frown marred her delicate features as she placed a hand on her hip. "But you know I can't allow you free reign in my court when you're sympathetic to my enemy. To the Empire's enemy. And I don't suppose you would be willing to work espionage on my behalf?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I'm completely neutral to this conflict."

The atmosphere grew strained in the space as she pressed her lips together. I stood, unmoving, and anticipated her response. Neither calm nor anxiety influenced my temperance, and merely I waited, ready to receive whatever retort she had.

She peered at me for a long while and then sighed. "Very well. I recognize the truth in your words. You may keep your position here, and I'm holding you to your statement that you are not politically aligned with either Ulfric or myself."

It was the most I could hope for. "Thank you. I appreciate your good faith, my Jarl."

"Please," she said with a sharp note, "remember to call me Elisif when it is just the two of us."

"Elisif."

Her name rolled off my tongue in a way that altered her expression. Wistfulness and fire flitted across her visage as she ran her gaze over me. I felt it sear through my breastplate, cut into the core I kept hidden from the world.

"That ambiguous armor again. I've stopped inquiring, but my curiosity only grows," Elisif told me. "As does my longing for you. Come here."

I approached at her beckoning, as I had countless times in the past. When I halted a few inches away, she reached out and ran her palms over the sharp spikes of my epaulets before traveling to my neck and collar. I watched, enamored as always by her elegant demeanor. And then my breath caught when the sight openings of my helm were no longer aligned with my eyes.

My hands shot up at once and clamped over her small wrists as she tried to lift the Daedric headpiece, shoving them away from my face. She whimpered at my roughness, and the sound stirred something within me, entwined with my burgeoning anger. I pulled her forward, pressing her soft frame against the unyielding material of my armor. Using one hand to pin her wrists behind her back, I gripped her chin with the fingers of my other and forced her to look at me.

"Who is testing whom, Elisif?" I rumbled, witnessing her shudder from the low pitch of my timbre.

Wanton desire entered the blue irises that stared up at me, and breathlessly, she answered, "I only wish to learn the true nature of this enigma that sets my blood aflame." A dainty leg rose and slid out from under the hem of her skirt, rubbing up along my outer thigh. "You, known only as the Dragonborn…" She wrapped her leg around my waist as her manner shifted from proper lady to sultry minx. "…Possessing this strong, slender, ambiguous body…" Her hips rolled against mine, challenging my willpower. "…Will you ever show me what you are?"

I released her, but she clung to me, seizing my collar to keep me close. This side of her reminded me why I always returned at her beck and call. Despite her incessant hope to see the form beneath my armor, I never stayed cross for long. It was a pattern I'd engaged in ever since we'd come to this arrangement. Although she tried each time to catch a glimpse of my face, I knew what it was she actually wanted.

"My name is sufficient."

I lifted her with ease and sat her atop a nearby dresser, prying her leg from my waist but spreading her knees further apart. I stood between them and hitched up her skirt while she seized the gauntlet of my dominant hand. Slowly, and ensuring my acquiescence, she removed the only piece of attire I was willing to take off. Tanned skin wrought with jagged scars came into view, and I stroked my callused fingers across the length of her thigh, eliciting a small sound from her throat as my fingertips brushed against the curls over her moistening entrance.

"My services… are enough."

She offered no argument, only threw her arms around my neck and moaned when I slid a finger into her. The warmth that enclosed over my digit sent heat straight to my loins, but I kept myself in check and focused on my task. Holding her against me, I retracted my hand and then plunged back into her with two rough fingers. She stifled a cry next to my ear, and I grinned to myself as the young and lovely Jarl of Solitude surrendered her composure to become a trembling mess in my arms.

"My touch… is already yours."

"Kressun."

My name left her mouth in a sharp exhale, begging, wanting. I obliged, invading her again and again in a consistent rhythm, using every technique, every angle I knew to bring her closer to the edge. She was tight, having taken no lover except what I could offer. The intrigue surrounding me was enough to satisfy her, she'd once alleged, though I found that difficult to believe. And so I sought to draw out the truth from her sweetest region, for her most honest state manifested in her arousal.

"Tell me, Elisif… how _this_," I flexed my arm muscles and thrust hard into her, "is enough to satiate that burning lust you have for me."

"Secrets, Kressun," she panted, tightening her hold around my neck. "I have them as well. But please… don't stop."

As my fingers delved deeper inside her, I obeyed the request.

Minutes later, after she had arched into me and climaxed around my hand, she showed me her gratitude by raising her face and pressing an intimate kiss to the front of my helm, right where my lips yearned for her on the other side.

x-x-x-x-x

I sensed Erandur's persistent gaze on me as we passed through the front gates of Solitude on our way to the stables.

"What is it?" I asked, adjusting my gauntlets.

"Ah, nothing."

I sent him a brief look, but refrained from pursuing the question. The overcast sky hid the late afternoon sun and stretched out above us in a blanket of gloom. I quickened my pace toward our horses, not keen on getting caught by sleet and rain on the journey to Falkreath.

"Well," Erandur piped up halfway along the route to Katla's farm, "I've just observed something. Mind you, I'm only a bystander and may be completely off the mark."

That caught my attention, and I came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road. "Share your thoughts with me."

He stopped a few paces ahead and fixed me with a probing stare. "Your dealings with people in power. Namely, the two Jarls leading the opposing sides of the war."

A muscle twitched in my temple as I stepped toward him. "And what about them have you observed, Erandur?"

"It just seems a dangerous game you're playing. Involving yourself with both, yet maintaining your neutrality on what they each stand for."

I stiffened at the assessment, glaring at him through my helm before attempting to shoulder past. "You are indeed off the mark, my friend."

With surprising speed, his arm shot out to block my path. It thumped against my abdomen, keeping me in place. I was about to demand that he move when I noticed the intensity of his eyes. They flashed with an aggression I hadn't seen since Nightcaller Temple, the gentle priest of Mara nowhere to be found in their depths.

"Let me finish. That was my first thought," he stated testily. "My second was that it isn't a game, but something driven more by… want of flesh."

In the stifling confines of my armor, my body heat rose to an uncomfortable temperature. I hadn't exactly been… _discreet_ about these summons, but I hadn't thought my well-mannered follower would actually bring it up and confront me. Still, the natural defensive reflex surged up, and I shrugged my shoulders, unwilling to endure a theistic lecture from one of Mara's sheep.

"Elisif and I were discussing politics. Nothing more," I declared in a harsher tone than I'd intended.

His fingers suddenly drifted toward my face, but before I could recoil, they dipped toward my collar to pluck something out. I saw the strand of long blonde hair reflect the fading light, and for once I had no response as he released it into the wind.

"As you say, Kressun. Politics, indeed."

x-x-x-x-x

**A/N:** I readily accept concrit, though be aware that the premise of this story lacks an intricate plot, as it centers on the issue of Kressun's identity (and the blatant trysts with the Jarls). Thanks for checking this out, and I'm always glad to receive feedback!


	2. Chapter 2

**- II -**

The tension thickened between us, an occurrence so rare that I took a moment to consider his standpoint. How long had he waited to bring this up? From his perspective, my decisions may have seemed questionable, even suspicious, and yet he'd neglected to say anything until now. I had to wonder whether a true, unfavorable opinion of me lay buried beneath that collected persona. While I cared little about the enmity I faced from the public on a daily basis, this left a different effect.

It troubled me.

The appearance of a courier interrupted my train of thought. In untimely fashion, the man came running over to make his delivery, and my sight remained trained on Erandur's impassive features as I took the letter handed to me. Breaking eye contact to glance down and read it, I felt my jaw harden at the contents.

"We will have to delay Falkreath again," I announced, stuffing the paper into my pack. Surely, some Daedric prince must be toying with me.

"Where are we headed?" Erandur inquired.

My answer rang with reluctance. "Windhelm."

To his credit, he said nothing.

Stark silence hung over our travel eastward, broken only by the occasional communication to decide on lodging and equipment transactions. I was perturbed by the atypical distance Erandur kept me at, but I left the matter alone, only wishing to move forward and hope his judgment eventually abated. The unrest had eased by the time we crossed into Eastmarch, though we encountered new outward apprehension and wariness from communities on the outskirts of Windhelm.

Unlike Solitude, where residents at least recognized me as Thane, citizens in Windhelm either had no idea or refused to believe I held that title here as well. Instead, I was the mysterious Dragonborn of unknown origin. My stature, tall and relatively built, gave little outward hint to my race, and so people continued to guess. Some of the ideas amused me to no end: a tailless Khajiit, an albino Redguard, a vain Altmer grappling with the shame and trauma of some trivial facial imperfection. The guesses grew more and more absurd each time I visited a tavern.

However, out of all the aspects under speculation, the most heavily debated was my gender.

I listened now as we dismounted our horses at the Windhelm stables. _"Man? Woman? What is it?"_ they whispered. I allowed their conjectures, never responding, never correcting. Their stares followed us all the way to the gates, and the guards issued an obligatory greeting to me as we slipped inside. The Nords passing by Candlehearth Hall didn't bother masking their disdain, as they thought me a fraud since I hadn't yet demonstrated any Shouts in this city. I ignored their slanderous comments and demands to reveal the Thu'um, for I felt no inclination to validate my dragon blood just to appease them.

I heard rather than felt someone spit on my shoulder blade, and in an automatic movement, Erandur sent a casual bolt of lightning to mildly shock the offender. Stormcloak soldiers noticed the conflict, but refrained from intervening when they recognized my armored figure heading for the Palace of the Kings. Erandur wiped off my armor for me, to which I turned to give him my thanks. But when he stopped walking several meters from the entrance of the keep, I paused.

"What's wrong?"

He stood there shivering under the falling snow, arms wrapped around himself as he averted his gaze. "I'll wait here for you," he said quietly.

I blinked, puzzled. "No. Come wait inside."

He stayed in place, expression indecipherable. I, too, refused to move, wondering what had brought this on. I could understand if he disapproved of my actions, but subjecting himself to the bitter cold simply to make a statement was so out of character. It became clearer that something had changed for us in the past day, a shift I failed to identify. Disquiet spread through my sternum, and the snow crunched under my boots as I stepped closer, my brow creasing.

"Will you at least wait in the Gray Quarter? Pass the time with Ambarys at the Cornerclub," I suggested. _Anything but waiting out here._ The image of him shivering in the freezing air did not sit well with me.

Erandur seemed to deliberate with himself for a few seconds, but nodded. Wordlessly, he pivoted on his heel and headed in that direction. I watched him go, trying to compartmentalize my concerns to address at a later time. For now, I had to set them aside.

My entrance into the Palace of the Kings echoed throughout the vast interior as the doors slammed shut behind me. Stillness greeted me at first, followed by the reverberating tones of Galmar Stone-Fist's voice up ahead. The gothic design of this palace contrasted with the ornate structures of Solitude's; fitting for their respective Jarls. I made my way around the grand banquet table, passing by the steward, Jorleif. He bid me a genuine welcome, the first I received since arriving at Windhelm. I acknowledged him and continued toward the rear of the main hall, where Galmar stood guard next to Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak.

My eyes locked with Ulfric's, and immediately I felt the draw of his power and fortitude, similar to the first time I met his gaze at Helgen. We had sat side by side on that wagon carrying us to our deaths, a gag across his mouth and a hood over my head. And somehow, here we were now.

I dropped to one knee before the throne, a sign of both reverence and fellowship for the man whose fate had been rewritten along with mine. I held that position until Ulfric rose to his feet.

"Come with me, Kressun," he ordered, striding past me toward the war room. "We need to have a talk."

I straightened and glimpsed the dubious look etched across Galmar's features as I trailed after the Jarl. Our footsteps resonated in the torch-lit stone corridors leading to the upper levels, and I noted the decreasing number of guards stationed on either side as we neared his quarters. I appreciated the display of trust, though I knew many in his Hold considered me a threat despite the deeds I had performed for their benefit. Thane, Dragonborn, these titles mattered little when others harbored no respect for the person holding them.

Sometimes, I regarded my survival as an inconvenience and my birthright as a thankless chore, made more evident by the relentless antagonism bearing down on me everywhere I went. Other times, I welcomed the challenge, seeing it as a set of trials to overcome. And I wanted to succeed. I _needed_ to succeed.

I had no other choice.

We ascended the last flight of stairs and emerged into Ulfric's bedchamber. The goat horn sconces flickered as he walked by, and I closed the entrance behind us, locking it at his command. The roaring hearth past the pedestaled bed cast shadows of his burly physique across the floor toward me. I lingered in front of the doors as he ventured to the fireplace, his silhouette tall and imposing amidst the glow. He bade me to join him after several beats went by, and like a marionette on a string, I complied with his will.

The heat of the fire seeped through to my bones as I neared, chasing away the last of the chill from outside. I came to stand next to him, my vision directed at the blaze that he also watched.

"We are preparing to send a message to Balgruuf, telling him to choose a side." Ulfric turned to me then, his stare full of ice. "Does the same need to be done for you?"

I looked away and readied myself to repeat a conversation we'd held numerous times before. "Forgive me, my Jarl, but message or no, I will take no part in the civil war."

Displeasure emanated from his bearing as he edged closer. "I have tolerated you sitting on the fence like this, but my patience wears thin. And while Elisif may be content with your impartial stance, I am not so lenient."

My hackles raised on instinct when the threat entered his posture. "You already have my membership in your court, my company in your quarters," I pointed out. "What more could you want of me?"

He appeared to double in size, provoked by a question I'd thought innocent. "To start, I want to know what it is you're hiding," he rumbled, reaching for me. "From the beginning, you shrouded yourself and your motives in obscurity. Even now, you have yet to explain your involvement with both Solitude and Windhelm when you have no intention of supporting either side."

I evaded his hand and took a step back. "I only conceal what does not matter. Above all, I intend no harm in doing so."

Ulfric's gaze bore into me, right through the physical constructs of my Daedric garb. I felt the shift in the atmosphere even before he moved, but still I reacted too slowly to the grip that clamped over my forearm. His height and build dwarfed mine as he closed the distance between us, and I found myself peering up at his agitated countenance in the orange light of the flames. His sheer dominance wrapped around me, bid me to yield. I chose to stay still when he brushed his knuckles against one side of my helm, over my cheekbone.

"Perhaps not, but that leads me to wonder what your intentions truly are," he murmured, so close that I could study the pale blue and gray pattern of his irises. "What will it take for you to show me?"

I placed a palm over his fingers when his thumb hooked under my chin. In the back of my mind, I took in his words, understood that Ulfric Stormcloak sought my asking price. His unrelenting desire for my allegiance and disclosure burned with an almost tangible vigor. I sensed the edges of my self-control fracture when he bent forward and repeated the question in a gravelly whisper next to my ear, but I held fast to my resolve.

Gathering myself, I told him, "My reasons are my own, Ulfric. Rest assured, they will not interfere with my duty to end the Dragon Crisis. But I will not share them."

I saw the dark glint in his eyes for a fraction of a second. Then, in a flash, he swung me around and straight toward the hearth, demonstrating strength and speed superior to my own. My hands shot out to catch the mantle, but my forehead struck its edge before I could stop my forward motion. A sharp, ill-forged section inside my helm cut my flesh above one brow, and I braced myself there while the scorching heat of the fire licked at my front. My warhammer had clattered on the floor somewhere to the right, and in the next instant, an imposing weight pressed itself against my back. Ulfric's heavy arms slid around me from behind, holding me in place as one hand traveled between my legs to grope at the sex disguised by my armor. The air rushed from my lungs at the foreign contact, leaving me wavering.

"You would have me accept that vague reply? This is my homeland at stake, my people at risk," he snarled, pushing me closer to the inferno. As I resisted and ground my backside into him, he added in a gruff voice, "…My sanity you are toying with."

My shoulders stiffened when his fingers fumbled with the fastenings at my waist. Ire and adrenaline surged through my system, forcing me to take action before he went too far. Yanking off my gauntlet, I broke his hold and spun around. The movement failed to catch him off-guard, but his anger receded as soon as I stroked his face with my bare skin. Everything went silent as my blunt nails grazed the premature lines near his mouth, trailing over the scratchy facial hair toward his jaw. His arms loosened, but he leaned into my touch, seeking all I was willing to give.

The longing in his expression tugged at me, and I dragged my fingertips south as something carnal took over my demeanor. "I am not toying with you. I said at the start that I would offer my service in matters outside your war. You know what that entails. _This_ is what I agreed to."

He exhaled sharply when I cupped the bulge in his pants, which only strained harder through the fabric. "Kressun—"

"Do not speak, and let me serve you."

One might call that a bold move, giving an order to the Jarl of Windhelm while handling his manhood, but he allowed me the brief illusion of power as I led him to the bed. Knocking him onto his back on the soft mattress, I witnessed his breathing shorten in anticipation as I crawled over him. We regarded each other fleetingly, my body poised above his. Within seconds, I had the laces of his trousers untied, and he attempted to stifle a groan once his erection sprung free and throbbed in my hand. Balancing myself on my knees, I worked him at a slow, tantalizing pace, having memorized every inch of his shaft and the rhythm that drove him mad.

Judging from Ulfric's guttural sounds of pleasure and eager response, I estimated weeks since his last instance of release—likely when I had last come here. The busy schedule he adhered to left him little time for himself, but sometimes I contemplated whether he waited for my arrival on purpose. Known as a force to be reckoned with in every sense, the famed leader of the Stormcloak rebellion was reduced to a growling, writhing heap at the mercy of my ministrations.

His knuckles had gone white from clenching the blanket at his sides, and he bucked when I reached the specific speed that would soon set him off. Smirking, I worked him harder, perspiring in my armor from my own inhibited arousal. He spoke of his land and his people in wanting to solve the mystery surrounding me, but in the end, it always came down to this.

Be it Elisif or Ulfric, they both wanted me this way.

Suddenly, without warning, he seized my hips and reversed our positions. The mattress sank under our shifted weight, and I experienced a wild moment of panic when he used one arm to pin me down by my collarbones. He had wedged my legs open and settled between them, panting as he fixed me with a searing look that plunged straight into my core. I felt it again, his aggression and dominant nature that enticed me to submit. But just as I began calculating ways to deflect any attempts at stripping me, he leaned closer and captured my undivided attention.

"At this point," he rasped, reaching down to grasp himself, "I don't care whether you are a man or a woman…"

I lay there, paralyzed and transfixed on his vigorous pumping, barely registering what was happening until he let out a low groan and spilled his seed all over my belly and lower abdomen. It went on almost endlessly, as if determined to stake his figurative claim on me. When he finished, he released me and scanned the mess he made on my armor, satisfied.

"I will have you yet."

x-x-x-x-x

I found Erandur alone at the top floor of the Cornerclub. He glanced up from the book he was reading next to a candlelit table when I trudged up the creaking stairs and dragged myself across the floor toward him. Before I even said anything, his prominent brow ridge furrowed.

"You're injured," he stated, somehow detecting the cut on my forehead.

"You're correct," I sighed as I plopped into the chair across from him and set my warhammer against its side. I winced at the incessant stinging, which I had all but forgotten while dealing with Ulfric in the throes of passion. "Could you hit me with a healing spell? I don't want to waste a potion on this minor wound."

Erandur rose and padded over to kneel in front of me. Then, unexpectedly, he reached for my helm. "Let me take a look at it."

I jerked away at once. "No. The cut is right above my left eyebrow. Focus on that section, and you won't be wasting magicka—"

"Kressun." His tone grew assertive, commanding, and sharp enough to halt the further refusals ready to launch from my mouth. "Let me take a look at it."

We eyed each other in the hush of the space as the muffled conversation and music drifted up from the tavern area below. He sported the same unreadable expression as earlier, telling me something between us still remained unresolved. His insistence asked for much, especially when I would never unmask myself for anyone else. Even those I had certain relations with.

But for Erandur…

"Fine. But be on guard in case anyone comes up. I haven't yet mastered my invisibility spell."

He nodded, gently taking hold of my helm to lift it off. I sat in a passive daze until he succeeded in removing it. Cool, refreshing air hit my face as I breathed in and reveled in this rare freedom. I wiped at the damp, dark hair matted to my head and the nape of my neck, dismayed at how quickly it chilled out in the open. Erandur placed the Daedric headpiece on the table, studying me in the weak lighting. Unable to meet his staring for long, I turned away in discomfort.

"Just… check the cut and heal it so I can put the helm back on," I muttered, keeping my unhindered vocal pitch quiet so as not to alert curious ears.

Tender and warm fingers touched my cheeks, making me jolt as he rotated me back toward him. His features had taken on a new softness as he inspected my visage, and I felt my pulse race when his thumbs caressed the smooth planes of my facial structure.

"Don't look so bristled. You've shown me yourself before," Erandur remarked as he continued tracing my skin all the way up to the dried blood on my forehead. "And I'm honored to be the only one in Skyrim to have seen you without your helm."

"Yes, well… I trust you," I declared, very much aware of his vicinity. In the dimness, his crimson gaze locked onto me from beneath his hood, entrancing and fiery in its own right.

He held my chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting it up so that we hovered mere inches apart. "You've never told me, though… why are you so desperate to hide this flawless face?"

x-x-x-x-x

**A/N:** This chapter took twice as long as I thought it would, but I'm glad I've finally churned it out. Thanks for reading this chapter! Any comments are appreciated!


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